Tales of Landover
by GalaxyDancer
Summary: It was gonna be a bunch of stories, but it just turned out being one about the characters everyone hates... Fillip and Sot. Read please. Please!


**Author's Note: We all know that I'm not Terry Brooks. Or am I? ...Well, you can decide after you read this (kidding; of course I'm not). Also, including Willow in the story just... slipped my mind, so... shut up about it. She's on vacation in Elderew visiting her father. As for the most annoying characters in the world being brothers... HELL YEAH, THEY ARE. How else could they finish each other's sentences? ...Enough ramble. On to the story!!! (Oh, and I might or might not add more tales to the Tales of Landover. So don't expect anything, but check back just incase.)**

Tales of Landover  
1 - The G'home Gnomes  
By GalaxyDancer

Based on the novels by Terry Brooks

Fillip and Sot sat crouched inside of a bush, staring out at the garden of Sterling Silver. They had been perched here since midnight, waiting for some sorry animal to wander into the clearing they guarded. Sick sounds of empty stomachs growling echoed about as the sun rose in the sky. The birth of the new day should have been the time to call it quits and go back inside for breakfast, but the G'home Gnomes would have argued that they didn't want the usual bacon and eggs; no, they wanted fresh meat. They hadn't eaten fresh meat for weeks! Yes, and besides, they smelled something coming.

Indeed, something was coming – and some_one_ as well. A thin dog, a stray dog, a dog without a purpose snuffed about, wearily waddling directly into the clearing. Fillip and Sot, mouths agape with hunger, caught themselves drooling. This was exactly what they wanted! Yes, and breakfast wouldn't begin until the Great High Lord –the Mighty High Lord!– awoke and rose for the new day's tasks. And it was still too early for that – yes, it was too early. They were hungry; they could wait no longer!

With the skill of instincts developed over hundreds of years, Fillip leapt out of the bush and pounced on the dog. The abandoned house pet let out a yelp and tried to shake Fillip off, but Sot ran to his brother's aid and piled on top of the creature. Together, they snapped the dog's neck with their small but powerful paws, digging their diseased nails through its skin.

Before the dead animal even had the chance to fall on its side, the G'home Gnomes began devouring it. Fillip snapped off a limb and began picking at it like corn on the cob. Sot ripped part of the backside with his teeth and started digging into the soft meat. Blood spilled onto the grass, spotting it with more red than it required to look colorful.

They would have finished the dog quickly. Yes, they would have cleaned up the entire mess, bones and all. They would have licked the grass clean! Not a trace of the animal left; no, not one! But as they were quickly eating their early breakfast, they heard something that sounded like a person dropping a backpack full of books. Instantly they scrambled back into the bush in which they'd been hiding, leaving the half-eaten carcass for the flies. After all, safety came first. Hide now; ask questions later.

Two noses poked out of the leaves and sniffed the air cautiously. Smelling nothing that could be a threat, the noses pushed farther, followed by two pairs of squinted eyes and small, pointy ears. The two faces looked about, searching for the source of the sound.

"Oh no," Fillip murmured, startling his brother.

"What is it?" Sot asked, trying to pinpoint where Fillip's eyes fell.

"The dog!" Fillip all but yelled in terror.

"You don't mean…?"

"Look there!" Fillip pointed towards the castle entrance, where a rather pale Abernathy lay motionless, two books beside him. In the Gnomes' hunger-stricken drive for food, they had overlooked the fact that the scribe was always the first awake. But they never would have told him of this! No, and they would have simply gone back inside if they'd known he wasn't asleep! He already disliked them; now he would utterly hate them. He wouldn't forgive them. And worst of all… he would tell the High Lord!

"What do we do?" asked Sot, a hint of hopelessness in his tone.

"What _should_ we do?" replied Fillip.

"We should finish what we began."

"Yes, leave no trace."

"But if he should awaken…?"

"Then we shall be there to greet him. He will not forget what he has seen, but if we act kindly, he might not be so hard on us."

"Indeed, the punishment shouldn't be as harsh."

"My thoughts exactly!"

"Do we have time to do both?"

"We do, but we must work quickly."

Swiftly as they had pounced on the animal, they stripped it of skin and licked the bones clean. Sot burrowed into the earth, making a small but deep hole, and Fillip kicked the bones inside not unlike that very dog used to kick dirt over its own holes. Together, the G'home Gnomes filled in dirt over the remains of the poor, lost pet and then scattered the grass on which they had eaten. More or less a picnic site, Fillip thought absurdly.

Immediately after that, the G'home Gnomes waddled over to Abernathy and stared at him awkwardly, carrying out their half-baked plan to dodge punishment. They glanced at each other, silently wondering when he would come to, and at the same time praying for him to remain asleep. In their own logic, if Abernathy remained asleep, there would be _no_ punishment. Of course, the chance of him remaining unconscious was slim at best, and that was the only reason the gnomes hadn't scurried off to their room in the castle.

The scribe stirred, and Fillip and Sot jumped. Abernathy opened his eyes to see a pair of ferretlike faces staring at him, mouths splotched with blood.

"Are you well, Abernathy?" Fillip inquired.

"We saw you faint," Sot explained.

"We were worried," Fillip assured.

"_Very_ worried," Sot added.

Abernathy was staring into the faces of killers – murderers! Bits of the dog dripped from their fur as they talked and carefully dodged saying a word about the meal they'd made of the innocent creature. It was something straight out of a horror tale. But what dug deepest into the wound was the way neither Fillip nor Sot seemed to feel any tidbit of guilt about what they'd done. The way they avoided talking about it almost made them seem proud – and _certainly_ ignorant!

"Get away from me!" Abernathy raged, tears threatening to form in his eyes. Fillip and Sot shut their chattery mouths and sank back. The scribe continued, "You're nothing but cannibalistic, good-for-nothing monsters! I don't wish you anywhere near me!" A growl rumbled in his throat, and then progressed to a sudden burst of animalistic barking. Fillip and Sot, not wanting to get a better look at Abernathy's sharp teeth, darted in opposite directions and disappeared underground.

It was close to half an hour later before the brothers surfaced and mustered the courage to go back inside the castle. They knew they were in trouble; they could smell the thick scent of hatred lingering all throughout Sterling Silver. The wisest thing to do would be to go upstairs and wait in their room like children in a timeout. But, through all of the wrongdoings that had occurred, Fillip and Sot somehow found themselves craving a snack.

They boldly waddled down the hall towards the kitchen, but stopped and dove behind a corridor when they heard voices approaching. What if it was Abernathy telling one about the happenings earlier? The memory of him barking with rage was still fresh in the G'home Gnomes' minds – as fresh as the dog meat they'd consumed earlier.

The voices neared, speaking in muffled whispers, but distinguishable to the gnomes' sensitive ears. One was certainly Abernathy –the brothers lowered their heads at that- and the other was the High Lord. This normally would have been a good thing (the High Lord was the only one they felt they could trust), but on this occasion it was very, very bad. The king and the scribe together meant only one thing: High Lord of Landover Ben Holiday now knew of the dark events this morning.

A rain cloud seemed to pour down on Fillip and Sot as they dragged their feet out from the corridor and faced the king and scribe. Abernathy's blazing eyes fell on the two, sizing them down greatly and making them curl into themselves even more.

"Great High Lord…" Fillip addressed.

"Mighty High Lord…" Sot added.

Ben stopped, Abernathy a few steps behind him, and slipped his hands into his pockets. "Fillip… Sot…" he addressed back humorously, obviously in high spirits about something. A casual smile was plastered on his face, contrasting what the gnomes had expected. "What can I do for you two?"

Fillip and Sot looked at each other, baffled, and then turned to Abernathy questioningly. The scribe, no words needed, sent them a message with his eyes that said he hadn't uttered a word to the High Lord, but would do so as soon as they stepped one grimy nail out of line. This came as quite a shock to the G'home Gnomes. Abernathy, at any other time, would have gladly and without regret complained to the High Lord and insisted that they be sent away. They couldn't understand why he did not… but they were grateful nonetheless.

Suddenly ecstatic, Fillip blurted, "We wish to join you at breakfast."

"We do," Sot agreed unconditionally, almost reading Fillip's thoughts.

"The day begins on a high note, High Lord."

"On a good tone with a steady beat, High Lord."

"A perfect day in all measures."

"The very _best_ day!"

Ben smiled wider, simply happy that others were happy, though silently pondering the relevance of using so many music references to describe the day. Of course, when he really thought about it, such a good day could be described in no other way than with music. In fact, that was the only thing this morning was missing.

"Very well," Ben agreed delightedly, then motioned to Abernathy to continue on and follow him. They passed the G'home Gnomes, and the scribe gave the brothers one last threatening glance before continuing his conversation with the High Lord.

Fillip and Sot looked at each other worriedly. They'd come out of the situation unscathed so far, but for how much longer would this go on? There was only so much they could do at the moment, being blackmailed and forced to behave. Sooner or later, Ben would find out… or Abernathy would tell. Or worse: the owner of the abandoned pet would decide it was now important and put up posters to find it, and…

The rest of the morning was eerily quiet. Fillip and Sot walked on eggshells, watching every step they took and rethinking every breath they drew. They understood that each word must be carefully thought out and said in unsuspicious context; therefore, they said little or none at all. When spoken to, they only nodded their heads, which puzzled Questor Thews when he asked how they were doing today.

Breakfast time arrived ominously, dragging with it the dread of having to sit near Abernathy. Fillip and Sot felt fear wrap around their throats like a scarf that was just a bit too tight, cutting off their ability to swallow. Nevertheless, they arrived as they'd said they would and sat across from the others. They listened intently as the High Lord talked with Abernathy and Questor, though their heads remained down and their eyes dared not glance up. They silently stirred the food on their plates into two identical mounds of mush.

This vow of silence would have lasted forever if Ben had not asked them why they weren't eating.

"We are fine, High Lord," Fillip answered another question entirely.

"Very well, High Lord," Sot needlessly added.

Ben gave them a suspicious look. "You two are always first to throw down your food and beg for seconds. I've never -not once!- seen you pick at a meal without taking a bite." He ended it there, implying he wanted an explanation. Fillip and Sot didn't exactly jump at the opportunity; they bobbed their heads enough to glance at Ben, but then went right back to blending their second breakfast.

"Perhaps they are ill," Questor suggested, managing to make everybody look up at once.

Or maybe they're so full that they can't eat any more, Abernathy thought grimly. However, the insult he told was a little different: "Considering they're so filthy, it would be easy for them to become ill. How often do they bathe? Once… twice a month? Less?"

"You need not concern yourself with it, Abernathy; I am aware of the problem," Ben said in a warning tone. He turned to the G'home Gnomes, who felt lower than ever and twice as guilty. "Is that it, then? Are you sick?"

Fillip, always leading the conversations between anybody and his brother and himself, blinked his self-pitiful expression away as he thought over what to say next. There were two direct paths he could take at this point: yes or no. The option of 'I'm not sure' was immediately discarded because nothing good could result from it. So the question remained… 'Yes, we are feeling unwell. Indeed, a bit feverish.' Or, on the other hand… 'No, High Lord, we're simply not hungry.' But, of course-

"We are sorry! Very, very sorry!" Sot cried out unexpectedly. "We have not had meat for a while… we waited in the courtyard and caught a stray dog. We meant no harm!" He climbed atop the table and crawled over –not to the High Lord, but to Abernathy– and clasped his hands together and bowed his head unsanitarily close to the scribe's plate. "Please forgive us!"

Time took a pause as shocked expressions registered on everyone's face. Abernathy, most of all, was utterly stunned – overwhelmed enough to overlook the fact that a creature was on top of the table and close to his food. Thoughts ran through his and everyone else's mind like lizards running from a bird of prey. Nobody, not even Sot himself had expected this. As for Fillip… he stared, frozen, at the scribe and his own insane brother. Abernathy turned his gaze towards the other G'home Gnome, who felt its full power –angry or not– and fainted.

Ben suddenly laughed, disturbing the intense setting of the moment. He turned to Abernathy. "Well, it seems you're on cleaning duty for two weeks. But since you've been such a good sport, I'll lower it to one week." He slapped his hand on the scribe's back and continued to laugh.

"Don't exclude Questor from such merriment," Abernathy reminded, glancing over at the wizard. "He wagered his position as well."

The kobolds hissed in a humorous tone as they showed their sharp teeth in a smile. Questor snapped his head towards them angrily, face scrunched into a scowl. Bunion and Parsnip only hissed louder, ignoring him and enjoying their fortune of not having participated in the bet.

"Don't worry; I haven't forgotten about you, Questor," Ben said playfully, putting his other hand around the contemptuous wizard. "You'll be on kitchen duty for a week." Questor nodded in agreement, comforted by the fact that the consequence of the wager would be shared by Abernathy. The scribe felt likewise.

Sot, who had long since jumped down from the table, was kneeled on the floor and desperately trying to revive his brother. Only bits and pieces of the conversation broke through the barrier of his worry for Fillip. "Might I ask…" he started, then paused as he waved his hand over his brother's face, "what is going on, High Lord?" However, the question asked was quickly forgotten as Fillip's eyes opened.

"Nothing but a good, old-fashioned bet," Ben Holiday said triumphantly, though Sot was no longer paying attention. "Abernathy told me early this morning about what you two had done, and insisted there be a punishment."

"As well as there should have been," Abernathy interrupted under his breath.

Ben ignored him. "But I told him that you would confess before this afternoon – without anybody pressing you to. Of course…" he turned to Abernathy tauntingly, "he didn't believe me." Abernathy grumbled something undistinguishable. "When Questor heard of this, he sided with Abernathy. But I used the oldest trick in the book to win: reverse psychology."

Fillip, sitting on the floor with a hand on his dizzy head, inquired, "You knew the entire time, High Lord?"

"You will not punish us, High Lord?" Sot immediately asked in follow.

"No; that was part of the bet. If you did not confess, you'd be punished. But since you did… it seems Questor and Abernathy ended up with the punishment." Ben was too much for himself.

Fillip and Sot smiled. Their fate had been lightly and humorously determined by a bet, the wager being who did the servants' chores for the week. All of their feelings of worry and dread were superfluous. The entire morning, they'd been fearful, watching themselves like hawks, and diving behind furniture whenever Abernathy came near. Any normal person would become upset if he had been tricked. He would ask questions such as 'Why didn't you just tell me and punish me?'. But Fillip and Sot were G'home Gnomes: a race of people hated and stepped on at every glance and turn. Ben Holiday, a while ago, had given them a chance… he'd shown that he cared. And for this, they were eternally grateful.

Fillip leapt from his brother's grasp and darted under the table to pop up on the other side, hugging Ben's foot as if it were a lost teddy bear found after three years. "Thank you High Lord! And bless you!"

Sot wasn't far behind, taking hold of the same foot and kissing its shoe. "Bless you very much!"

"We are in your debt."

"We will do anything you ask."

They continued on, each word more radical and annoying than the last. Ben kicked at them, freeing his foot's personal space, and immediately ordered that Parsnip and Bunion take the two confused gnomes to their quarters.

Apologies and praises echoed throughout the halls of Sterling Silver -who herself was becoming agitated- as Fillip and Sot were dragged to their room once again. After Ben was a good deal out of their site, they became quiet and started thinking over what had happened. Acting on impulse had its advantages. Yes, they could thank him now, and think over it later. A very useful instinct of the G'home Gnomes. Indeed, it was.

They silently swapped thoughts through glances and expressions as Bunion and Parsnip mumbled to each other in an unintelligible dialect. Why did the High Lord not punish them? Should they ask at all, to themselves or otherwise? Should they, did they think? Perhaps. It was for the better if they did not, though.

The awkward site of two kobolds dragging two G'home Gnomes by their feet would have normally attracted attention… but everybody in the castle was used to it. The lords gave a quick glance, then went back to their concerns. The servants didn't even manage this much.

Breaking the silence and the rhythm of the soundless conversation, Fillip asked, "So, what's for dinner tonight?"


End file.
